


An Impeccable Set of Proletarian Credentials

by thespreadeagle



Series: A Date at the Spread Eagle [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespreadeagle/pseuds/thespreadeagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Marius Pontmercy finds love behind the counter of a coffee chain thrown into disrepute, Courfeyrac beds a neurotic hypochondriac, no matter what Jehan says no one will realise that romanticism broke free of the bounds of classical drama,  and Combeferre just wants to go home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A modern day AU in which Les Amis all attend university in London, part of a series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Impeccable Set of Proletarian Credentials

There was a crash that left the walls of the house shuddering, the sound of hurried and slipping footsteps, and then Marius appeared in the doorway, tripping over himself in excitement and stumbling into the corner of the coffee table.

Well, thought Courfeyrac. I needed a bit of entertainment.  
‘I’m in love,’ said Marius, and promptly fell over.  
Entertaining indeed.

‘In love? Rapturously, adoringly so? Marius, please do tell about this divine creature.’  
Combeferre shot him a warning glance, to which he returned his most innocent and charming smile. Although he doubted it would either fool or charm Combeferre.  
‘Her name,’ said Marius, ‘is the most beautiful sound ever to have passed the tongue of man.’  
‘Well, I’d -’ said Courfeyrac, and then stopped.  
‘Her name is Ursula.’  
‘I’m not sure I’d say that was the most beautiful name in the world,’ said Feuilly, not looking up from his book.  
Marius absently waved a hand in the air.  
Courfeyrac sighed and said, tossing his hair back for dramatic effect, ‘Marius, how do you keep running into such fine circumstances? It must be the nostrils. Fortune can do nothing but smile on such nostrils. I’m sure your lovely girlfriend can do nothing but smile on such nostrils.’  
‘Oh no,’ said Marius. ‘She’s not my girlfriend.’  
Courfeyrac thought he could hear Bahorel stifling a laugh.  
‘I saw her at Starbucks. She’s a barista.’  
‘Don’t let Enjolras catch you buying things from Starbucks,’ said Combeferre.  
‘Did you even speak to her?’  
‘Of course he spoke to her, don’t be -’  
Marius blushed. Just a little, but it was definitely still there. ‘No, I couldn’t quite summon up the courage.’  
‘Wait,’ said Bahorel. ‘You just walked in, saw her and left?’  
‘Well, yes, when you put it like that.’ Marius paused and looked down at his hands. ‘Actually, I think I might have left my coffee behind.’  
Bahorel was definitely laughing. Courfeyrac thought that Feuilly might be laughing. Even Combeferre couldn’t hide a smile.  
‘Well,’ said Courfeyrac. ‘We’ll just have to see about that.’

***

Jehan wrinkled his nose a little doubtfully. ‘Well, it is Romantic, I suppose. Capital-r Romantic I mean. Do you think he’s going to go into a decline?’  
‘Just drink your girly drink,’ said Grantaire. ‘I put a lot of effort into that.’  
‘-and once the liver’s been replaced by scar tissue really the only thing to do is to stop drinking to cut down on further damage. And the term cirrhosis actually comes from the Greek for the colour the liver turns. Don’t you think that’s fascinating?’  
Bahorel downed the last of his drink, tapping the empty glass against the bar to call Grantaire over. ‘Fascinating, Joly.’  
Grantaire leaned over. ‘You didn’t think to bring your Ate, who walks not on the ground but on the heads of men?’  
‘You really should be more careful about your drinking,’ Joly said.  
‘That’s rather hypocritical of you.’ Bahorel turned to Grantaire. ‘No, we left him at home. He’s sulking.’  
‘I just wanted to make sure you were aware of the consequences.’  
‘How surprising. I can’t imagine how one could possibly cause the golden light of good humour to abandon his face for somewhat stormier skies.’ Grantaire stared into space. Bahorel had a nasty feeling he might be trying to strike some sort of attitude.  
‘You’re the worst barman I’ve ever seen.’  
‘And yet I’m still surpassing all expectations of me.’  
‘As much as I enjoy lamenting your faults, Grantaire, I was actually trying to get another drink.’ Bahorel said, holding up his empty glass. Grantaire took it, a little reluctantly, and retreated to the beer taps at the other side of the bar.  
‘What was her name?’ Jehan asked, looking up from his drink.  
‘Ursula.’ said Bahorel, reaching out as Grantaire returned with another pint.  
Jehan wrinkled his nose a little more. ‘It’s... it’s not quite what I was expecting.’  
‘You can say that again,’ said Courfeyrac, suddenly between Bahorel and Joly, an arm around each of them, cheeks and nose pink from the cold, Combeferre walking in behind him. ‘I always thought of Marius as positively having the moral rectitude of a latter-day John Knox. What are we drinking?’  
‘Definitely not what you’re drinking,’ said Bahorel.  
Courfeyrac brightened. ‘If Feuilly’s not here, can I have some of his beer?’  
‘No, he’ll murder you. And then he’ll murder me for letting you,’ said Bahorel. ‘Where is Feuilly, anyway?’  
‘He went home. He said he had to write an essay on religious persecution in 17th century France,’ said Combeferre. ‘So I decided to go out.’  
‘How excruciatingly dull. If all he’s going to do is stay at home and be sulked at by Enjolras about Bakunin, I think he deserves to have his beer drunk.’  
‘You’re not drinking his stupid foreign beer.’  
‘Fine,’ said Courfeyrac, and then somehow managed to corner Joly, standing a little too close to him, and talking to him just quietly enough that the others couldn’t hear.  
‘Courfeyrac’s not sulking too, is he?’ Jehan asked, peering over at the two behind him. ‘He can’t believe that the first person to corrupt Marius wasn’t him.’ .  
‘I’m not sure it’s possible to corrupt Marius. I think the barriers to that might be unassailable.’  
‘So he’s trying to corrupt Joly instead?’  
‘Essentially, yes,’ said Bahorel. ‘What do you want to drink?’  
Combeferre considered. ‘It’s highly unlikely they’ll have a house red, isn’t it?’  
‘Yes,’ said Grantaire. ‘Just so you know, that is highly unlikely.’  
Jehan leaned over worriedly. ‘You’re not going to go into a decline too, are you?’  
‘Not over a house red just yet, Jehan.’  
Courfeyrac walked over, gesticulating wildly. ‘I have a plan. A plan to push Marius into the arms of his lady love.’  
Combeferre rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Although that is starting to seem like a preferable alternative.’

***

‘I never would have had you pegged for a smoker.’  
‘Really?’  
‘It strikes me again every time I see you light up. Pleasantly, I mean. I like smokers. Also it’s quite fitting, the man desperately smoking a crumpled cigarette after he has deflowered the virtuous but misled young girl. You should be wearing a sweaty wifebeater.’  
Joly breathed out a cloud of smoke, laying back against the pillows. ‘You’ve put too much thought into this fantasy.’  
Courfeyrac laughed, curling up around Joly and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. ‘Still, I do like smokers.’  
‘Why don’t you do it yourself, then?’  
‘Lung cancer is just so peculiarly horrible. Even for a cancer. Something which I’d think would concern you.’ Joly exhaled again, and Courfeyrac breathed in, eyes drifting closed.  
Joly shrugged. ‘I could drop dead now of a brain aneurysm. I could catch antibiotic resistant tuberculosis on the Tube tomorrow. I could leave a candle burning and die from third-degree burns. Cancer just seems very far away.’  
‘Yes, well, it’s nice to see that you’ve thought through your simultaneously neurotic and fatalistic approach to life. Although I can’t see the smoking helping with that TB. Or the cold you actually have.’  
Joly laughed, more than a little self conscious, and got off the bed to look for his shirt. ‘It’s stupid, I know. I should probably just quit. Emphysema’s a lot more likely than a freak cholera epidemic.’  
‘Oh, I don’t know. You might as well enjoy life on the offchance that you have an undetected allergy to wasp stings. Besides, smoking suits you.’  
Joly smiled, but seemed retreat into himself a little. Courfeyrac, lacking any such shell himself, stifled a sigh and thought that the only thing to be done was to persevere.

*** 

‘I can’t believe you dragged me into this.’  
‘Marius needs our help, my dear. We all have to make sacrifices and yours is that you have to undermine the state by ordering a coffee from a business that won’t pay tax on it. Still, from each according to his abilities, hmm?’  
‘Actually, that’s a misinterpretation. If you look at Kamenev’s analysis of Das Kapital -’  
‘No, see, Feuilly, I wanted to cheer you up by quoting Marx, not to have to talk about it. And shouldn’t you be happy to in some small way aid the destruction of our capitalist state?’  
‘Not if it means helping - oh, very funny. Was it painful when you lost the last bit of your integrity?’  
Courfeyrac had to smile. ‘Never had it to begin with. Oh, I think that might be her.’  
‘Which one?’  
‘Behind the counter. Dark hair, rosy blush, don’t stare.’  
‘How can you tell?’  
‘I can’t, but I can’t really see Marius going for bleached hair or a nose stud, becoming as it definitely is.’  
Feuilly squinted. ‘Her name’s not Ursula, though.’  
‘Well if she isn’t the object of Marius’ admittedly rather spurious affections I shall just have to make her the object of mine.’  
‘Just as spurious, I’d think.’  
‘Nobody’s denying that, my dear,’ said Courfeyrac, and sneezed. ‘Oh, look out, here come our young Werther.’  
‘What a shame there aren’t any cliffs nearby.’  
‘You’re absolutely heartless in your pursuit of anti-formalist proletarian credentials.’  
‘I don’t need any proletarian credentials.’  
‘Good, because your soul belongs utterly to the bourgeoisie. Ah, Marius! What a pleasant surprise!’  
Marius looked confused. ‘But this wasn’t a surprise.’  
Courfeyrac dragged him into a seat. ‘Unfortunately, we don’t appear to have accounted for the possibility that your erstwhile beloved wouldn’t actually be required by the crushing necessities of big business.’  
Marius turned to Feuilly. ‘Do you know what that means? At all?’  
‘As in it’s not her shift. And don’t ask him, he’s sulking because I called him a bourgeois,’ said Courfeyrac, and sneezed again.  
‘But she is on shift. That’s her, right there?’  
‘Who, the one on the left? Undeniably attractive as she is I wouldn’t have had her pegged for your type.’  
‘No, she has the long dark hair.’  
‘Sorry to rain on your parade, but her name isn’t Ursula,’ said Feuilly.  
‘Then it’s just the perfect opportunity for him to find out what it actually is. Off you go. And get me another coffee while you’re at it.’ Courfeyrac blew his nose, shooing Marius over to the end of the queue. ‘I don’t know where I caught this.’  
‘Everyone knows where you caught it.’ Feuilly said with distaste.  
‘Why, Feuilly, what exactly are you implying about my relations with an oft-ill young man of our mutual acquaintance?’  
‘Was all this just an excuse for you to talk about your sex life?’  
‘Has it succeeded?’ asked Courfeyrac, hopefully.  
‘No.’  
‘You could talk about yours afterwards.’  
Feuilly ignored him. ‘Just watch the show.’  
‘We could talk about yours now, if you like.’ Courfeyrac waited for a response, but got none. ‘What is Bahorel like in bed, anyway? Is he, you know, in proportion?’  
Feuilly shot a confused glance at Courfeyrac.  
‘Well, he is rather tall. What is he, six-three, six-four maybe? And you know tall men are often tall everywhere.’  
Feuilly blushed and looked back at Marius standing awkwardly in the queue.  
‘Ah, so he is in proportion. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean he knows what to do with the tools he’s been given, that’s often the case. I would know, I’ve slept with a few well-endowed men- oh, Feuilly, you’re as red as a tomato- so is he any good? He’s quite big all around, is it like making love to a bear? We all saw his chest hair when we went to Mersey, it’s like he’s wearing a jumper. Is he terribly kinky? He seems like he would be. So do you, in all honesty, with all that pent up frustration. I’ve always assumed he tops, but is that actually the case? Is he one of those big beefy men who has a thing for being dominated? Or is he the top and it’s just very, very rough? Does he make you call him Daddy?’  
By this point, Feuilly was fuming, glaring over at Marius who had finally made it to the front of the queue, and trying not to scream at Courfeyrac. ‘Would you please just shut up?’ he hissed.  
‘You’re only getting angry because this is all true and you have no way to deny it.’  
‘You’re only making fun of my sex life because you’re upset you couldn’t get Marius into bed and you never will.’ Feuilly said, and at that Courfeyrac was quiet.

After a short while in awkward, sulking silence, Marius returned, coffee in hand, looking down at the floor in embarrassment.  
‘So?’ Courfeyrac asked, after Marius sat down.  
Marius was quiet for a moment, a blush on his cheeks, before bursting with excitement. ‘Her name is Cosette. She studies literature at King’s College and she looks even more beautiful than the last time I saw her.’  
‘How did you find out about her studies?’  
‘I think I just started screaming my entire life story at her and it ended with “and now I’m studying dentistry at King’s” and then she said she was at King’s.’  
‘How suave.’ Courfeyrac took a sip from his coffee. So she’s practically perfect in every way, hmm?’  
‘Well, yes, I think so.’ He blushed even deeper. ‘I think I might actually be in love.’  
‘Still,’ said Courfeyrac, ‘at least the person who takes your virtue is a similarly blushing innocent herself. Although that does make one doubt how much virtue will actually taken. No, Marius, don’t worry your pretty little head about such matters.’  
‘So did you get her number?’ Feuilly asked.  
Marius looked completely dumbstruck for a moment. ‘Was I supposed to?’  
Courfeyrac laughed, delighted. ‘How else are you going to see the love of your life again? Were you just planning on coming into Starbucks every day until she fell in love with you?’  
‘Well...’ Marius shrugged his shoulders nervously.  
‘Marius, go up there and get her number.’  
‘No, I can’t.’ Marius shook his head, blushing. ‘I think I already acted weirdly, and she’ll probably think I’ve been stalking her, and I’m so embarrassed, no I can’t- Courfeyrac?’  
‘What?’ Marius looked up at Courfeyrac hopefully. ‘No. Marius, I am not getting her number for you.’  
‘Please?’  
‘Are you a twelve year old? Can’t you get it yourself?’ Courfeyrac gave a put-upon look, but he couldn’t hide the grin forming on his face. ‘Alright, I’ll do it.’ He snatched up his coffee and walked over to the queue, winking at the two of them on his way.  
‘Marius, are you insane?’ Feuilly hissed.  
‘What?’  
‘You just sent Courfeyrac over there. To talk to this woman you’re apparently in love with. Are you an idiot or do you actually trust him that much?’  
‘I’m not sure.’

Courfeyrac made his way to the front of the queue, purposely making sure he ended up with Cosette. He flashed her his most dazzling smile. ‘No, no, I’m not actually going to order coffee, and I do apologise most profusely for coming under false pretences.’  
She did look rather dazzled, he liked to think.  
‘I’m actually here to intercede on behalf of my friend whom you honestly shouldn’t judge just from his social skills. I mean, I’d understand why you would but there’s so much more than that to our dear Marius, I promise. Take my word for it. Cosette’s an absolutely charming name by the way, but where did Ursula come from? Unless he was so stunned he simply forgot how to read, but I’d like to think even Marius is a little beyond that by this stage.’  
Cosette blinked. ‘It’s - I picked up my roommate’s name badge by mistake when I left the house.’  
‘Rather disappointingly prosaic although - perhaps a sort of innocent charm? Anyway, I appear to have gotten rather sidetracked. Just so we’re clear - you do have some sort of interest in my friend Marius, don’t you?’  
‘Yes, I suppose -’  
‘Good. Now, you wouldn’t mind giving me your number to give to him, would you?’ He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, ‘The poor dear was too shaken up to come and ask for it himself.’  
Cosette blushed. ‘That would be lovely. Thank you,’ and started to write it down.  
Courfeyrac smiled. ‘You two are simply too sweet for words. Which is a good thing in Marius’ case, since he seems to be having trouble forming them. But positively saccharine, even, so it’s a good job I have a sweet tooth.’  
He decided to believe that she was struck dumb by the sheer force of his charm rather than simply bewildered, and thought well, rather her than me.

 

***

The Spread Eagle was crowded that night, or rather, it was crowded for the Spread Eagle. Most of the regulars were there, and most of them were middle-aged and older, very quiet and drinking only the cheapest of beers. The youngest in there were the group comprised of Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Feuilly and almost all of the other young men. The large front door creaked open and Enjolras entered, joining the rest of them standing by the bar.  
‘So,’ said Courfeyrac. ‘The prodigal son has returned unto the house of his father.’  
‘No calf slaughtering, please,’ said Enjolras, with the ghost of a smile. ‘I spent quite a lot of time campaigning about that.’  
‘I do hope you’re not going to talk to us about legislation. In this state I highly doubt we could keep our ends up. Why, even Combeferre is a little the worse for wear.’  
‘I am not,’ said Combeferre, who was however a little flushed.  
‘My heartfelt apologies, o most articulate beacon of sobriety. But yes, have a drink since  
otherwise the conversation will in no way live up to your exacting standards.’  
‘I’ll have a lemonade, please.’  
‘Not indulging in any of our sordid mortal pleasures, then?’ said Grantaire.  
‘I wasn’t particularly planning on it,’ Enjolras said, turning away.  
‘Come on, Enjolras,’ said Bahorel. ‘Stop being so responsible and reasonable for one night. Or I can guarantee you won’t enjoy it.’  
‘A little hypocritical, perhaps, my dear?’ said Courfeyrac. ‘Simply considering whom you have your arm around.’  
‘Don’t start again,’ Feuilly muttered.  
‘You’re all simply constricted, anyway. You have no grasp of the beauty that can be contained in a good old bit of debauch or degeneracy.’  
‘You’re starting to sound like Jehan,’ said Joly. ‘And his Romantics.’  
‘I do hope you’re not disparaging Romanticism,’ called Jehan.  
‘I am,’ said Feuilly. ‘I am, on the grounds that it’s a decadent and formalist pastime of the bourgeoisie.’  
‘Do you always end up like this?’ asked Joly.  
‘Don’t start feuding, anyway,’ said Grantaire. ‘Or do, but it would be eminently Romantic and we wouldn’t want you dragged up in front of a People’s Court.’  
Enjolras, blessedly, laughed. Courfeyrac, fearing an oncoming storm, said his goodbyes, to the confusion of the more observant of his friends, grabbed Joly and their coats and left, sneezing as he went.  
‘Although I wouldn’t really encourage Romanticism as a viable lifestyle choice, Jehan. It has a tendency to end in malnutrition or TB,’ said Combeferre. ‘And what if you turned out not to be a genius after all?’  
‘Although you might get syphilis if you were lucky,’ said Bahorel.  
‘Or not,’ said Jehan, ‘if you knew what the symptoms were.’  
‘If this is going to be half as detailed as Joly usually is, I don’t think I want to,’ Enjolras said.  
‘It’s hardly something you’re going to have to worry about, is it?’ said Grantaire.  
Enjolras’ lips tightened. ‘Nice as it is to see you concerned about something for once, I really can’t see how that’s any of your business.’  
‘What? I only meant because of modern medicine and antibiotics,’ said Grantaire, convincingly innocent.  
Marius’ timing in walking in was serendipitous for once. ‘Is Courfeyrac here?’  
‘You’re a little too late, actually,’ said Combeferre. ‘He just left. Do you want somebody to pass on a message?’  
‘Oh no. I’ll tell him later,’ said Marius, and sat down. Combeferre heard a distinct sigh from somewhere around Feuilly. ‘I’ve had the most amazing day, I can tell you.’  
Since no questions appeared to be forthcoming, Combeferre felt he had to take it on himself to show an interest. ‘Oh yes?’  
‘You know Cosette? The one who works at Starbucks?’  
Combeferre could feel the beginnings of a headache as Marius kept talking. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
‘Tired?’ said Enjolras, lightly touching his shoulder in a way both diffident and comforting.  
‘A little. I might call it a night. Sorry, Marius, you’ll have to continue some other time.’ Or not, he added, then felt guilty. Which hardly helped the headache.  
‘Continue with what?’ said an unfamiliar voice from behind him. Combeferre jumped, but Marius just turned round and smiled.  
‘Emmeline! It’s nice to see you.’  
‘Éponine,’ she said, and smiled with absolute sincerity. Marius smiled back apologetically and turned back to Combeferre and the others. Behind the bar, Éponine tugged at Grantaire’s arm, pulling his gaze away from the others. ‘What was Marius talking about?’  
‘Oh,’ Grantaire seemed to snap out of a daze. ‘Just his new girlfriend.’ He quickly turned back to the conversation going on between Combeferre and Enjolras.  
‘Marius has a girlfriend?’ Éponine watched wide-eyed, but Grantaire, leaning over the bar, ignored her, as did the rest of them. After a last glance at Marius, Éponine turned back and walked through the door connecting the bar to the rest of the building, up the stairs and to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The sound of the door trembled through the pub, to be heard even downstairs.  
‘Was that thunder?’ Marius asked no one in particular, looking out of the window.  
‘Marius, why don’t you go home?’ Enjolras said.  
‘No, I’ll be alright. I haven’t even had a drink.’ Marius replied.  
‘Well, I’m on my way home.’ Combeferre said, finishing his drink.  
‘So soon?’  
‘When they start serving wine here, then I’ll stay for longer. I’ll see you all later.’ Combeferre smiled and his made his way out of the pub.


End file.
